


Wilderness at Home

by RoughMoon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Love at First Sight, M/M, POV Alternating, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1535579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoughMoon/pseuds/RoughMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We were stray dogs, unwanted and unneeded, but now we had found each other. He left his bag in the rear and took the seat by my side, a smile glowing in his face, brighter than the morning sun. </p><p>I had found home, I had a family again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The road

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has different POV , and the narrator is the person mentioned at the beginning of each chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**I – The road**

 

_Derek_

The road follows our path, too long, too wide and too dark, a big silent snake slowly uncoiling behind us.

Stiles is sleeping in the back side of the van, untouched by my thoughts or my feelings, indifferent to what I see outside the window. This is one of those perfect moments when I can think about death without remorse, just feeling that if everything would stop now it would be ok, that I would be at peace with the universe, pretending I could leave the world almost unaffected by my presence, certainly not improved but only slightly damaged… Of course, that doesn’t last long, not nearly enough, but is such a peaceful feeling that I can’t avoid to indulge in it every once in a while. Also, I don’t wish to leave, not yet, especially not since Stiles is with me. I still feel the need to keep going, to discover new sides of this puzzling world, of our strange life. And I love driving at this time before dawn, not sure if it is night or day, when everything seems new born and stainless, when I feel I could take us to whatever place we wish and find the perfect corner to root. I keep dreaming for a few minutes, knowing that too soon everything will get back to reality and I’ll start worrying about all the trifles that need to be solved each and every day.

Something tickles under my skin, and I admit to myself that I will have to stop and wake him in a while; I cannot drive for so long without going back there and start caressing him again, kissing the back of his neck and his wrists while he is still half asleep and can’t open his eyes completely. I don’t have to eat or drink as much as I need this physical contact, but I feel recharged after we touch, as if I had a full meal or an eight hour sleep in a luxury hotel with spa service and massage. He can go back to rest after and I can drive again for a long time, until we have to stop for gas or he has to pee.

But I can still keep driving for some time while he sleeps. I like looking at the empty streets of the small towns we cross in this dim light, imagining the people who might be sleeping in their beds while we are so close to them; some alone, some in good company, some wishing they were alone. Some of them will be living strange dreams, far more interesting than their day reveries, some will be sleeping too profoundly, forever dreamless, and some will lie awake already dreading the new day. I’m not sure in which category I would fall if I was there…

I feel lucky with what I have and I feel almost as fortunate with what I don’t wish to have. I have Stiles, I have my imagination, a blessing or a curse depending on the day, and this need to keep moving. I have the van and the road and I don’t need anything else. The rest are all physical needs that we somehow manage to provide for: food, drink, gas, some weed to clear our brains when they’re too obscure, a repair from time to time, a few clothes from any thrift shop. If I’ve learned something in my life is that, except for the living, everything else is replaceable. And I never kept any memento with me, not even from mom or Laura, they are all inside of my head and if I lose this then nothing else matters.

I move the rear mirror so that I can see Stiles' sleeping face and for a few seconds I try to focus my eyes to discern his features out of the blur: the half open mouth, the delicate eyelids, the wide forehead. His body shakes with the bends and with every van’s movement, and he seems so young, so vulnerable… It makes me feel guilty, like if I had kidnapped him, stolen him from his mother’s arms to drag him into this nomad life, responding to a strange desire from a shameless person who is doubtfully the ideal partner for someone like him. Probably not appropriate to anyone… But I question someone would love him more than I do, and it seems he likes this well enough. Also, there wasn’t a loving mother anyway or a responsible father, only a drunk uncle who was happy to keep a distant eye on him and pay for high school but even happier to be released from that responsibility.

Ok, enough time wasted trying to make me feel better about this. Also, I wouldn’t change a single minute since we have been together, so why bother if I didn’t have any options really?

I can’t distinguish his dark caramel hair from the sheets, but I know it’s there, curling slightly around the ears and against his long neck, framing the almond eyes but never hiding them.

Sometimes I still can’t believe he’s there, I guess that’s why I keep checking again and again, afraid one day I will look back and the van will be empty, as it was for so long before I found him in that godforsaken town, lazily seating in the street, killing time by looking at the few cars passing by, and suddenly raising when he saw my unkempt black hair wildly dancing with the wind out of the van’s window.

Something made me stop there, an uncanny feeling, an urgent need to drink a cold beer and have something to eat, and after that a longing for sleeping in a real bed for once, even when my wallet was so empty that paying for a motel seemed a foolish luxury, a reason to start worrying about my own mental health. But there he was, serving me the last beer while I was thinking to retreat to that cheap room without understanding what the hell I was doing there. Then I looked into those liquid eyes and I immediately felt calm and sated, satisfied as a child who just had a warm bath, dinner with mom and dad, and was watching TV in pajamas before falling asleep in the sofa.

The next morning he was waiting outside the gritty motel, in spite of the early time, almost in the same place and posture I had first seen him from the van. I still don’t know if he slept at all that night or if he just waited outside until I walked out the door after a few hours of a less than satisfying sleep. Maybe my body already knew I wouldn’t be able to relax again unless I could feel his warmth next to me. We had only exchanged a handful of sentences, just basic information about ourselves, but our mind was already made; he was coming with me.

I waited inside the van in the outskirts of the town while he went to his uncle’s place to tell him he was leaving and to take a small bag with some clothes and a few personal items. I dreaded he wouldn’t return after all, and I spent my time finding the strength to leave alone if he wasn’t back at dusk, thinking of a way to find him just once more to make sure he was ok before turning my back to that town and never coming back again. But my hopes were still high anyway...  And against any logic, he was there after just one hour. The easy way he convinced his uncle to let him go telling him he wanted to go to the city as his friend Scott did some months ago and try a new life there, told me everything I needed to know to calm my conscience. We were stray dogs, unwanted and unneeded, but now we had found each other. He left his bag in the rear and took the seat by my side, a smile glowing in his face, brighter than the morning sun. I had found home, I had a family again.

I open the window now to let some dusty air into the van, and I smell the soft breeze, the grass, the distant woods, and even a faint trace of smoke. It will be hot today; we should find a nice spot to hide from the sun for a few hours, ideally with some water to refresh and clean ourselves before we continue on our path.

 


	2. The farm

Chapter 2: The farm

Chapter Text

Sam

I hear the engine a long time before I can see any vehicle approaching the farm, so I have time to decide if I want to close the door and hide inside or if the possibility of a conversation is worth the risk. I haven’t spoken with anyone since I went to the nearest town two weeks ago to buy some groceries, and I find TV so boring that I only notice the thing when I accidentally touch the thick dust film that covers it. Lately the sound of my own thoughts has become so familiar that I don’t even know if I spoke out loud or not. Not that I give a shit about it…

I finally stay outside, since there’s not so much at stake anyway.

The van looks quite old and encrusted with dust; its color is difficult to define, but under this scorching sun it seems to be some kind of green, turning to brown in a few places. It is a solid piece of metal, with good tires and a clean front window, and it sounds pretty nicely as well, as it is well kept and valued by its owner, only maybe not so much in the makeup department. I appreciate people who take care of their cars; I have spent many hours myself working in my old truck trying to compensate for the extenuating and continuous effort I expected from it every day. It still breaks my heart to see it rotting and slowly falling into pieces inside the barn.

When the vehicle finally stops in front of me I see the driver’s door opening with a determined movement and a tall, built man with shades, dark hair and tanned skin going down of it. His gestures are not necessarily friendly but are not menacing either, and he has the aura of someone not looking for trouble but who knows how to solve it when necessary. He gets a little closer to me, still staying near the van, and takes out the shades. His eyes are a rare translucent tone of green, like the color has concentrated into two single drops of nature, and it gives his face a strange softness, an intelligent calm against the abrupt strength of his jaw and the wilderness of his hair. He is probably around 24 or 25, about the same age my Erica would be now. But he is fair, serious and responsible; he's in charge.

He looks directly into my eyes and introduces himself: “Hi, I’m Derek”. I reply calmly: “Nice to meet you Derek, I’m Sam. How can I help you today?”

It turns out he travels with a kid no older than 17 or 18, Stiles, a strange name if you want my opinion, who came out from the back of the van when Derek called his name after we had been talking for a while. He was hiding him in a protective way while he made sure everything was ok with me. I can understand that, I know how people can look at you and only see what they can take from you, your weaknesses and soft points, ready to take advantage of them. I know how they looked at Erica after her first seizure, how they kept trying to diminish her, to stigmatize her, until she couldn't stand it and wasn't able to stay here any longer… Stiles shyly moved close to Derek under the sun, leaning on the side of the van and has stayed there with his hands in his pockets all the time we’ve been chatting, even when he was obviously too hot and sweating. They don’t seem to notice the heat and it doesn’t bother me that much either, not after spending a whole life here.

Stiles is all young wood and honey, with different shades of brown, dark to golden, in his hair and eyes, and a clear, creamy skin dotted by several moles. He didn’t waste words at first, relying on Derek to keep the conversation going, only adding a word here and there to make himself present, but he wasn't distracted either, and I could feel his brain carefully analyzing everything that was being said. During those first minutes his voice has been low, so low you might think he hasn’t spoken at all, the sensation increased because I can’t stop looking at his eyes. These are made of liquefied resin and are just as sticky. Without even noticing I fix my own eyes at them for too long and it’s like the mountain has come down to this dry valley with its pines and lakes and rocks, and I keep staring until I feel Derek’s impatience behind me and I realize with embarrassment that I have been rude to them.

First I thought they might be brothers, but the way Derek’s eyes turn into coals when he looks at Stiles leaves no doubt about the nature of their relationship. And no sibling would casually put his hand at the small of his brothers’ back exactly where a parch of skin became visible between jeans and t-shirt when he moved. I'm not here to judge anybody, so I don't look twice when they touch. God knows I would hug the trees if they could return the affection... Also, although obviously protective, Derek isn’t really possessive or smothering; you can feel Stiles is free to walk away from him at any time but also immensely grateful to be there, constantly gulping the strong feeling that exudes from his companion.

Strange and improbable couples are sometimes the happiest, probably because they’ve had to fight for having that option, both inside and outside of their minds.

They are tired and have stopped here hoping to find a place to buy some food and rest for a while during the hottest part of the day. Incredibly, they took the dirt road from town that someone told them is a shortcut to the highway, and then saw and followed the old, forgotten sign I placed on the side of the path years ago when I tried to convince some customers to buy watermelons during the season. But I don’t cultivate watermelons anymore, nothing so juicy grows here now, only my own dry despair and loneliness. When I tell them Derek shrugs and thanks me for nothing, and they look as young and close as I am old and abandoned, so I offer them to share the tomato salad and pasta I was preparing for lunch if they can help me move my old cabinet from the kitchen to the barn so that in autumn I can chunk it and make a good fire with it when the cold of the winter comes here.

After lunch and some good physical work, we have a nice dinner outside at the porch, and Stiles reveals himself being an intelligent talker, witty and quick with words. They seem relaxed here, and I have a good time with them, sharing old stories and recent adventures, never getting into the sensitive personal topics that so obviously hang in the air. This is something I don’t remember having for a too long time, something easy that I had blocked after Erica left, cutting the relationships I had with my already scarce friends, denying even the small pleasures I could still have. But maybe I didn’t deserve all the punishment I inflicted on myself, and it clearly hasn’t brought Erica home... Can two strangers shake the foundations of my old sour soul? Is it really that easy?

At night I let them stay in Erica’s room, where I have never allowed anyone for the last six years; only I trespass that door to clean every once in a while, and even this is happening less and less often lately. I don’t know why I do this, probably wishing someone else is able to break the spell of my own faith, my hopes that one day she comes back home, even if she is all broken, with serious problems, or ill or with a kid or so different I can’t almost recognize her, hating me for finally returning to this place admitting she wasn’t strong enough, that she wasn’t the self-sufficient person she claimed she was. I think Erica would have admired Derek, she would have listened to him, would've wanted to take guidance from him; I suspect Derek is the kind of person Erica wanted to be. But you can’t be someone else, no matter how hard you try, you will always be a fake and the strain of keeping that puppet alive will kill the person inside of you in a thousand different ways. Sometimes it will destroy other people as well.

So, I hope they do what couples do there all night long, and that when they leave tomorrow everything is changed in that haunted room: the smells, the colors, the bed, I even hope they break a few things or steal something. It would be funny if I’d ask them to do this, they would probably go back to that van and start driving too fast just to get the hell out of here, away from this crazy old farmer, but this is what I’m dying to ask them.

How I wish they just do it…


End file.
